


The V-Word

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas and Jimmy have a very interesting conversation. Drama ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The V-Word

“And of course, Clement only wants to marry a virgin.” Lady Rose’s voice trilled across the drawing room. Jimmy carried on as if she hadn’t spoken, loading the tray with teacups without looking up. “It’s just ridiculous really,” Lady Rose went on. “How men get about such things. One would think, if anything, they’d prefer a woman with a little experience. Isn’t that right, Edith?”

“Oh, yes.” Lady Edith replied, quietly. Jimmy could sense her looking at him, but he kept his eyes on the sugar bowl. She was the one dallying with a married man—everyone knew it, even though it was a forbidden topic of conversation downstairs—but she was still the more reserved of the two, much shyer about such things. Lady Rose, Jimmy sometimes thought, would ride naked through the village if only someone would lend her a horse.

“What about you, then…I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.” Now, Jimmy glanced up. Lady Rose was looking at him, a smile on her lips.

“James, my lady.”

“James. You’re a man. You tell us. Would you rather marry a virgin, or someone who knows her business in the bedroom?”

“With my income, my lady,” he replied, pleased with his own smoothness, “I’d be happy with anyone I could get.”

Lady Rose laughed uproariously, as if this were the funniest thing she’d heard in months. Knowing this boring lot, Jimmy thought, it probably is. “How wonderful. Come here, James, please.” James put the tray back on the table and took a step forward. Lady Rose reached into her bag, a beaded pouch hanging over the back of her chair, and pulled out a ten-shilling note. “There you are. My contribution, so that you may marry a lady of your choosing, virgin or not.”

They weren’t meant to take tips from the family, except at Christmas. At least, Jimmy assumed they weren’t meant to. It had never come up before. He couldn’t imagine Carson being in favour of it, but Carson wasn’t in the room. “Thank you very much, my lady.” Jimmy took the money, bestowing a sparkling smile on Lady Rose in return. She laughed again, and Jimmy left with the tray, before anyone could change their mind.

Having the extra money made Jimmy happy, and he spent the rest of the day imagining the fun he would have spending it. His next half-day was Wednesday, and he would go into the village then. He’d have a couple of pints first, then make his way over to the betting parlour. He was often lucky there, and, who knew, ten shillings might turn into twenty, or even more.

He didn’t want to go alone, though. It was so much more fun with a chum. Jimmy only really had one chum at the house, but that was all right. One was all he needed.

When he promised Thomas they could be friends, Jimmy hadn’t been at all sure it would come to pass. It had. Because of justice, Jimmy had decided. Thomas had committed an injustice against him. If he was honest—which Jimmy tried to be, if only in his own mind—he’d committed an injustice against Thomas, too, although that was hardly his fault and he couldn’t really be blamed for it. This unsatisfactory situation was what had made things so awkward during that year. But they’d made it up to one another, Thomas by saving Jimmy from the beating and Jimmy by forgiving him for everything. The score was settled, the slate was clean, and there was nothing stopping them from being friends. Real friends, the sort they might have been from the start, if Thomas hadn’t got all those silly ideas into his head. Rather, if O’Brien hadn’t let him get those ideas.

Thomas was a very good friend, the best Jimmy had ever had. They had so much in common, much more than Jimmy had with Alfred or anyone else. Barring the one big difference between them, they were practically brothers. It wasn’t always easy to forget about that difference. Jimmy couldn’t lie; Thomas’…peculiarity haunted him sometimes, especially when he was in bed at night, remembering the way Thomas’ mouth had tasted, the way his body had felt on top of Jimmy’s, pushing Jimmy down into his mattress. But Jimmy was trying very hard to forget about that, for the sake of their friendship.

After supper, Jimmy glanced outside to see Thomas in the kitchen garden, smoking. Jimmy’s heart lifted, full of friendship, and he went out to join him. Thomas smiled, clearly pleased to see him in return. And who wouldn’t be? Jimmy thought. I’m an excellent friend myself. He moved up the bench, leaving a space for Jimmy.

The bench was short, and narrow. Jimmy had to sit with his leg pressed against Thomas’, but that didn’t bother him the way it would have during that Dark Year, or before. He didn’t have to worry about Thomas taking liberties anymore. He held out his hand wordlessly, and Thomas passed him a cigarette. Jimmy propped it between his lips and Thomas reached over to light it.

“That Lady Rose is something else,” Jimmy said, as the cigarette caught. He inhaled deeply and blew out a river of smoke.

“Oh, yes?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Jimmy bumped Thomas’ shoulder. “Not like that, you lunatic. I’m no Branson.”

“Thank God.” Thomas’ tone was wry, his mouth pressed into a tight smile. “I don’t think Lord Grantham’s heart could take it. Or Shrimpie’s.”

Jimmy laughed, genuinely surprised. Thomas was so wickedly funny, it made Jimmy wish, a little bit, that he could have seen him before, when he was just wicked. But only a little bit.

“Mr. Barrow changed for the better about the time you got here, and no mistake,” Daisy had said, once. Her words washed a warm wave of satisfaction over Jimmy. He was far from religious, but it seemed like a very Christian thing indeed to inspire such a positive change in a man.

“Lady Rose gave me ten shillings,” Jimmy went on.

“What for?”

“I made a joke about virgins.”

Thomas’ brow furrowed. “Ah. I see.” It was clear he didn’t.

“She was going on about men wanting to marry virgins,” Jimmy explained. “She wanted to know what I thought.”

“What did you say?”

“That I’d be lucky to get anyone on my wages.”

Thomas smiled, vaguely. It wasn’t quite the reaction Jimmy had been hoping for. “What about you, then?” He asked, nudging Thomas’ leg with his own.

“I beg your pardon?”

Jimmy hadn’t made a conscious decision to go down this path, but now he was on it, he wasn’t turning back. If there was one thing that could be said for Jimmy Kent, it was that once he started something, he saw it through. Mostly. In any case, now that the thought had crossed his mind, Jimmy was interested in the answer. “Men like you. Do your sort like virgins?” Thomas didn’t look at him. His eyes were fixed on a patch of basil in front of them. “Thomas?” Jimmy prompted. Just as he was wondering if perhaps Thomas hadn’t heard, that maybe his hearing was already going with age, Thomas said, “I suppose some do.”

“And others like men with a bit of experience…behind them?” Jimmy grinned at his own punning audacity. Still, Thomas didn’t look in Jimmy’s direction.

“I would assume so.”

This was no good. Thomas and Jimmy were friends, and friends talked about these sorts of things all the time. Jimmy had talked about them almost nonstop with the other boys at Lady Anstruther’s. He was particularly proud of one saucy story he’d fabricated, about tumbling a visiting lady’s maid on a pile of her mistress’ silk knickers. “What about you?” Jimmy asked.

Now, Thomas looked. “Have you been drinking?”

Jimmy blinked at this non sequitur. “Not today.” Then it struck him: Thomas had never had a friend. Not one he could talk to like this. He’d told Jimmy that he’d been friends with O’Brien, in the distant past, but you couldn’t talk about these things with a woman. Not even a marginal one like O’Brien. “It’s all right,” Jimmy soothed, his heart going out to Thomas. “This is what friends talk about.”

Thomas’ expression was skeptical. “Even friends like us?”

“Yes.” Jimmy gave a perfect smile, comforting and encouraging at once. “Especially friends like us.” Jimmy wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but it sounded good. “So tell me. Would you want a virgin?”

Thomas was quiet for a long moment. Jimmy never gave up, not when he set his mind to something. He was about to repeat the question again when Thomas glanced towards the house, as if he were afraid they could hear him through the wall and across the garden. In a low voice, so low Jimmy had to strain to hear it, he said, “If it was a man I…cared about, it wouldn’t matter if he’d had a hundred lovers or none at all.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “Lady Rose would approve,” Jimmy said. He approved, too. It was a very romantic sentiment. Thomas was a surprisingly romantic man. Under normal circumstances, Jimmy would have considered it hopelessly soppy, but when it came to Thomas, he didn’t seem to mind as much.

Jimmy smoked his cigarette, content. It was a beautiful evening, late spring, warm but not overly so. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm red glow over the garden. Jimmy felt as though his friendship with Thomas had reached a milestone, a pivotal moment. Maybe, Jimmy thought, I have a duty not to let it pass so quickly. For Thomas’ sake.

“What if he was a virgin?” Jimmy said. It made a more interesting hypothetical than the other scenario. It wasn’t unusual, either, and not only for men who were “that way.” Plenty of men were still virgins in their twenties, especially in service. Having sex with a girl was very nearly as dangerous as having sex with a boy, if you weren’t married and there was any chance she might get pregnant.

Thomas closed his eyes for a moment longer than a blink, then glanced back over at Jimmy. “What?”

“This man you cared about, what if he was a virgin?”

Thomas’ expression changed. Jimmy couldn’t quite interpret it, but he didn’t mind. Even after all this time and friendship, Thomas was still quite frequently an enigma to him. That was fine. It kept things interesting. “Meaning he’d never been with a man, or…”

“Let’s say a complete virgin. Never been with anyone.” Jimmy smirked. “Would you throw him down and ravish him like the villain in a film?” The idea of Thomas leaning over some faceless young man, a wolfish leer on his lips, suddenly did strange things to Jimmy’s insides. He took another drag on the cigarette, which made the feeling go away. Almost.

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Thomas replied.

“No.” Of course. Thomas wasn’t like that. He’d apologized so many times for the midnight kiss, Jimmy couldn’t imagine him doing it—and more—to anybody else. “What would you do, then?”

Thomas had reached the end of his cigarette. He pinched it out and tossed the end onto the stone path beside the cabbages. “I should go back inside.”

Jimmy reached out, his hand landing on Thomas’ thigh, just for a moment. Thomas stilled, instantly. “Come on, Thomas. We’re friends. Please?”

Thomas licked his lips and avoided Jimmy’s eyes. He was uncomfortable, it was plain to see, and that was wrong. Jimmy wanted Thomas to be comfortable with him, always, even if he wasn’t comfortable with other people. “I suppose,” Thomas began at last, his voice weak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I suppose I would start by telling him how wonderfully sweet he is.”

“And handsome,” Jimmy added. Thomas had excellent taste in that area; he would never go after an ugly man. It would be a crime against nature. The very idea of Thomas touching someone like Alfred, or Molesley, made Jimmy simultaneously want to laugh, be sick and punch a wall.

“And handsome,” Thomas agreed. When he didn’t say anything else, Jimmy prompted, “And then what?”

“Then, I would probably kiss him.”

“Kissing?” Jimmy laughed. “That’s boring. I’m sure he would have done that before.” Even Jimmy had done that, with barmaids and publican’s daughters and other girls he’d met when he was drinking.

“He hasn’t done it with me,” Thomas countered. Then he added something else, a murmur that sounded like, “Not properly.” Jimmy didn’t pursue it. He was too pleased to have Thomas actually talking to him like a real mate.

“So you’d kiss like a couple of old women. Kiss kiss kiss.” Jimmy was overjoyed. This was the most fun he’d had forever, even if Thomas still wouldn’t look at him for more than a second at a time. “Then what?”

“Then I’d asked him what he wanted to do next.”

“Just ask him, straight out like that?” That seemed a bit plain, not very romantic, but perhaps it was what men and women did all the time, as well. Jimmy didn’t know.

“I wouldn’t want to presume anything. I don’t want to do anything he’s not comfortable with.”

“That’s very chivalrous.” It was. “But he wants to do it.”

“Do what?”

“It.” Jimmy put his hand back and squeezed Thomas’ leg, just a little, hoping that would get the message across without words. He wasn’t about to say it.

“I’m not sure…”

Jimmy sighed. “All the way, Thomas.”

Thomas understood. Jimmy could tell, because his pale face began to slowly turn red, the blush moving from his cheeks out to his ears. “He doesn’t have to do that.”

“He wants to.” Even Jimmy was vaguely interested in the idea. Lady Anstruther’s under-gardener, a chap called Milton, had a very bawdy story, which he told only when he was extremely drunk, about a French prostitute he’d met during the war. Apparently, she’d had a piece of polished marble, shaped like a cock, which she lathered up with petroleum jelly and pushed up men’s bums while they were having her. The other boys had made faces at the idea, but Milton said he’d never come so hard in his life. Jimmy was curious. He would like to know how that felt, although he’d always thought he’d prefer a nice, good-looking man over a bit of carved stone. Not because he was “that way” or anything, but because it seemed safer to have a real bodily appendage, something that could bend and feel and be properly washed, for God’s sake, up there.

“There are loads of men who never do that, and they still have plenty of fun…”

“Thomas! Just go along with the story.” Jimmy was the one who knew what he was doing here. He’d had plenty of conversations like this. Well, not quite like this. And he’d never enjoyed them quite so much. “He wants to. His mind is made up.”

“All right.” Thomas ran a hand through his hair, disarranging it. Jimmy liked it that way. “Does he want to be the, ah, the recipient, or the, the…”

“The recipient.” At least this time. Jimmy could imagine the man wanting to try both, to try everything, eventually. Why not?

“Then I’d take my time.” Thomas’ voice cracked. He cleared his throat again, and Jimmy saw him reach for another cigarette. He didn’t light it, but twirled it in his fingers instead. “I’d be very careful, and slow, and I’d make sure it didn’t hurt him very much.”

The mention of pain sent a weight to Jimmy’s chest, all but crushing his joy. Of course it would hurt, even with a real cock. You couldn’t expect to push a cucumber through a buttonhole without some injury and, anyway, it was supposed to hurt girls, too, the first time. Shortly after he’d arrived at Downton, he’d overheard Lady Grantham and the Dowager whispering something about, “blood on the wedding sheets.” Would a man bleed? How would Thomas explain that to the maids? He cut himself shaving? In bed?

“Would there be blood?” Jimmy blurted. Perhaps that was going a little too far, given that they were both sober, but Thomas just blinked.

“Blood? Not usually. Not if you know what you’re doing.”

“And you know what you’re doing.” Jimmy didn’t realize his heartrate had picked up until he felt it slow again.

“Yes.”

“Would you do it face-to-face, or the other way? You know, hands and knees?” You could have a girl either way, he’d been told. Jimmy assumed the mechanics would be similar with a boy.

Thomas began to cough. I knew he smoked too much, Jimmy thought, and removed his hand from Thomas’ knee so he could pat him on the back. “You seem to know a lot about this,” Thomas wheezed, when he caught his breath.

Jimmy shrugged. That was him, a man of the world. “I’ve been about,” he said. “Not personally,” he added quickly. He could have told Thomas his lady’s maid-and-the-knickers story, but he didn’t want to lie. Besides, Thomas was too clever to believe him. “But I’ve heard things.”

“Evidently you have.” Thomas looked at him. It was getting darker, but Jimmy could still see the blush on his face. Still, Thomas held his gaze as he said, “It’s easier facing the same direction, the first time. Anyway, I don’t know if this man would want to look at me.”

“I think he would.” Thomas was very handsome, it did Jimmy no harm to admit that in his own mind. More than that, though, this man would want reassurance. No matter how good Thomas was, no matter how careful, it would hurt, and the man would likely be frightened. Seeing Thomas’ face, seeing the love in Thomas’ eyes, would help him with that, keep him from panicking and remind him what he was doing it for. Because he loved Thomas. Because Thomas was the most wonderful man he’d ever met, and the best friend he’d ever had.

At least, Jimmy imagined that was how the man would feel.

Thomas smiled, a little, his lips barely curving upwards. “Then we’d do it face-to-face. We’d do whatever he wants. And afterwards, I’d kiss him again and tell him how much it meant to be the first man to do that.”

“You liar!” Jimmy laughed, smacking Thomas on the shoulder. “You said you didn’t care if he was a virgin.”

“I said I wouldn’t care if he wasn’t. It would still be…you know, something to me if he was.”

That brought a different feeling to Jimmy’s chest, a soppier, more syrupy one. It oozed through his body, bringing a pleasant wave of satisfaction with it. Jimmy finished his cigarette and, as he tossed the end aside, remembered what he’d come out here to discuss in the first place.

“You’re off on Wednesday afternoon, aren’t you?”

“No,” Thomas replied. “I swapped with Alfred.”

Just like that, satisfaction turned to irritation. “Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t have any plans, and he wants to go to the pub with his mate. They’ve got some new lamb pie or something he’s desperate to try…”

“Tell him you have to swap back,” Jimmy snapped.

“I can’t do that.”

“It’s only Alfred.”

“Jimmy.”

Thomas was the most infuriating man in the world. Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest, making his displeasure obvious. “Fine. When are you off?”

“Friday.”

“Who else is off then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Bates…”

“Then I’ll swap with him.”

Thomas shook his head. “He won’t do that. He likes to be off at the same time as Anna.”

“Then I’ll ask what’s her name, Lady Grantham’s new maid, to swap with Anna.” Jimmy had ten extra shillings in his pocket, and he was not going to miss out on his fun with Thomas because of bloody schedule conflicts. “And you and me will go into town on Friday afternoon and drink and gamble and have a bloody good time.”

It wasn’t a question, but Thomas still said, “All right.”

“Good.” Jimmy nodded. His irritation had passed as quickly as it had come, but the happy feeling did not return. Friday seemed a long way off. He was suddenly anxious, almost physically itchy, as if there were fleas in his drawers. Which there had better bloody not be, he thought, crossly. Not again.

Jimmy stood up, hoping to relieve the sensation. It didn’t work. Thomas stood as well. As they walked back to the house, he glanced over and said, “What are we going to do after the drinking and the gambling, Jimmy?” Thomas’ voice was soft, hesitant, but it was also indescribably fond. That was nearly enough to put Jimmy back in a good mood, but not quite.

Jimmy shrugged. He didn’t like to plan these excursions in too much detail. It was more fun to be spontaneous. “I suppose we’ll see how lucky we get,” he said, and he held open the kitchen door for Thomas.


	2. The Morning After

“You said yes.” Thomas wanted to shout the words across the room. That was impossible, of course, so he settled for hissing them, pouring every ounce of his rage into his subdued tone. He hadn’t felt this angry in years. Even when he faced being let go without a reference, he hadn’t felt like this, just shocked and resigned. He’d never been angry at Jimmy, not once. He’d never even been angry while he’d known Jimmy, not in the way he used to be. Now, looking at Jimmy—who’d come fully clothed into Thomas’ bedroom at five o’clock in the morning to accuse Thomas of taking advantage of him—Thomas was angry.

Cruelty twisted inside him, just like in the old days, and just like the old days, Thomas wanted to make someone else hurt as badly as he did. Jimmy was the only target within range. “You said more than yes, in fact, Jimmy. If I recall correctly, you said, ‘yes, yes, oh my God, Thomas, yes, oh my God, Jesus Christ, Thomas.’” Jimmy’s face, already pale, blanched a shade further. A twinge of guilt passed through Thomas, but he pushed it aside. “I can’t remember if that was the exact order. We could always ask Her Ladyship. Until I put my hand over your mouth, the entire house could hear you.”

Jimmy squared his shoulders. His lips were pressed together in a tight, colourless line. “I was drunk.”

“Is that my responsibility?” The guilt came back, stronger this time, but again Thomas ignored it. He could understand nerves. He could understand uncertainty. He couldn’t understand, after everything that had happened, after all they’d been through together, how Jimmy could do this to him now. “In any case, you weren’t drunk that night you told me everything you wanted to do.”

“What?”

“Outside, in the garden.” Jimmy had to remember. It was unforgettable. “You told me you were a virgin, you told me you wanted buggering. You even told me what position you wanted it in, for God’s sake.”

“I was speaking hypothetically!” A scowl worthy of Carson himself came to Jimmy’s face. For the first time, Thomas wondered if Jimmy was legitimately insane. Not just frightened or unsure, not just a consummate flirt, but not right in the head.

“There were nothing hypothetical about that.” That was everything Thomas had ever wanted to hear, and had never expected to. He’d floated up to bed that night, his mind full of happy images he’d seen a thousand times before, but never with Jimmy’s express consent.

Jimmy opened his mouth and closed it again. “Perhaps,” he said, after a long moment, “there was a misunderstanding between us.”

“Evidently so.” Although Thomas had thought he understood precisely what it meant when Jimmy removed his tongue from Thomas’ mouth long enough to mutter, “Bugger me, Thomas, I want you to, please, do it right now.”

“I won’t pursue the matter further,” Jimmy went on, grandly. Thomas wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. As ridiculous as it was, one lie out of Jimmy’s mouth could still finish him. “It’s probably best we both just forget about it.”

“Fine.”

Jimmy turned away. Thomas couldn’t just let him go, not without a parting shot. “It wasn’t that memorable anyway,” he snapped. It was a lie, and not even a believable one. Jimmy said nothing. He opened the door and left. His gait was a little uneven, Thomas noticed, but he forced himself not to feel sorry for him. Instead, he got back into his bed and shut his eyes, determined not to cry.

Jimmy was right, in a way. Whatever he said now, Jimmy had allowed it, encouraged it in fact, but it was Thomas’ fault it had happened. He was the one who should have known better. He should have sworn off Jimmy for life the moment Jimmy rejected his ill-conceived kiss, nearly two years earlier. Even before that, Thomas should never have fallen for O’Brien’s blatant tricks. He should have been smarter than that. He was smarter than that, usually, but there was nothing usual in the way he felt about Jimmy. Thomas had never felt it before. It was why he couldn’t leave Jimmy alone; it was why he pursued a friendship with Jimmy when any sane man would have run as far away as it was possible to get, given that they lived and worked in the same house. A sane man would have walked away when Jimmy started talking rot about virgins and sexual positions, and even a halfway insane one would have refused to get falling-down drunk with Jimmy only four days after that conversation.

Thomas wasn’t sane, clearly, and it was his own fault he’d been hurt. It always was, although normally, he was allowed more than a few hours of happiness before it all crumbled to dust.

The tension between them at breakfast seemed palpable to Thomas, but no one remarked on it. He and Jimmy were friends, to the outside eye, but not bosom companions. They didn’t sit together at every meal, or even often. No eyebrows were raised when Thomas sat at the opposite corner of the table from Jimmy, who was looking at a plate of wobbly eggs with a distinctly greenish tint to his face. Thomas refused to care. He held up the newspaper instead, creating an impenetrable barrier until Mr. Carson said, “If you’d like to join us, Mr. Barrow?” Thomas reluctantly lowered the paper.

“A new shipment of wine has arrived,” Carson went on, as if he were announcing a visit from a principal member of the Royal Family. “Some quite excellent vintages, if I do say. James, Alfred, you’ll be tasked with stocking the wine cellar today. But rest assured,” he added quickly, “that every bottle has been accounted for.” As if Jimmy would be that stupid, Thomas thought, affronted on Jimmy’s behalf.

“Sorry, Mr. Carson,” Alfred replied, and all eyes went to him. All eyes except for Jimmy’s, Thomas noticed. Jimmy was still staring at his eggs as though he expected them to jump up and throttle him. Rather them than me, Thomas thought. “Lady Rose has requested me upstairs.” Alfred smiled smugly.

Carson gaped. “I beg your pardon?”

“She’s having some friends for tea,” Alfred went on. “Artists and the like. She’s asked that I serve them. Says I have a most ‘inspirational visage.’ Whatever that means.”

“It means you’re ugly,” Jimmy snapped. Thomas was about to laugh, but stopped himself.

“That’s quite enough of that, James.” Carson stared at Alfred. “I must say, I am somewhat vexed that Lady Rose did not approach me with this request. It is quite against protocol. I’ve a mind to speak to Lord Grantham himself.” He drew himself up, as if prepared to say much more.

“Ah, well,” Mrs. Hughes put in, stemming the flow of what was sure to be an impressive tirade. “We know what artistic types are like. Artists, writers. Performers.” She gave Carson a meaningful look.

Carson spluttered a bit, then continued, grudgingly. “In that case, Mr. Barrow, you and James will have to take care of the wine.”

A few days ago, that would have been a dream job. Yesterday, even, it would have been the perfect way to spend the morning. Today, it was impossible. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Carson,” Thomas said.

“Oh, no?” Carson’s voice was rich with sarcasm. “And with what are you otherwise occupied, pray tell? Does Mrs. Crawley wish you to collect money for the Widows and Orphans fund? Has Mr. Branson requested your advice on crop rotation?”

Thomas looked across the table. Jimmy’s eyes flicked up for just a moment before they were back on the untouched eggs. “I am concerned,” Thomas said, clearly and deliberately, “that I would not be able to control my unnatural urges.”

The room was silent. Jimmy appeared even more ill. Alfred looked between Thomas and Jimmy, anxious confusion writ large on his face. Mrs. Hughes sighed. Lady Grantham’s new maid raised her hand to her mouth, but there was a smile behind it, as if Thomas had just told the most ribald joke. Bates fixed Thomas with one of his considered and highly irritating stares, the ones that suggested he knew far more about Thomas than he was letting on. Well, good for him, Thomas thought. Perhaps he’ll be kind enough to share it with me one day.

“Well. I…Well.” Carson stammered, apparently on the verge of apoplexy. It was Bates who stepped in.

“I’ll do it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Carson turned to him.

“I don’t mind. His Lordship will be out all day, and he hasn’t requested that I join him. I can stock the wine cellar with James.”

“Well.” Carson repeated, his shoulders relaxing and his furrowed brow clearing. “Thank you indeed, Mr. Bates. It is much appreciated.” Bates looked at Thomas again. If he expects gratitude from me, Thomas thought, then he’ll have a bloody long wait. Instead, Thomas raised the newspaper again, hiding behind his wall of paper. This time, Carson said nothing about it.

Thomas spent a long, boring and ultimately frustrating day occupied with the thousand and one little menial tasks that kept a house like this running. All the while, he tried to forget about the previous afternoon. This meant, of course, that he could think of nothing else.

It had been, until five o’clock this morning, one of the best experiences of Thomas’ life. Perhaps the very best. Jimmy had been excited, overly so, to spend their half-day together. When they left the house at half-past one, he was already bouncing about like a puppy and laughing at nothing.

Despite the highly suggestive and apparently meaningful conversation they’d had four days previously, Thomas wasn’t at all sure what to expect from the day. Jimmy hadn’t broached that topic again, but from the moment they got on the bus to Thirsk, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off Thomas. They walked arm-in-arm from the bus stop to the first pub, the Crown and Eagle. It was market day so the pub was unusually busy, packed with people Thomas didn’t recognize. “You get the drinks,” Jimmy had said. “And lend me this.” He reached out, grabbing Thomas’ glove.

“What?”

“Just for a moment.” Jimmy unfastened the glove, exposing Thomas’ ruined hand. At once, Thomas was self-conscious. He put his bad hand into his pocket, but Jimmy didn’t pause. He pulled the glove onto his own left hand instead, something which Thomas would never have expected to see. The sight was surprisingly arousing, but then everything Jimmy did aroused him. “Get us a couple of pints, then come over when I call you.”

Thomas nodded. He went up to the bar and put in his order. As the barman pulled the pints, Thomas looked over to the other side of the pub, where Jimmy had taken up position in front of one of the dartboards. As Thomas watched, Jimmy picked up a dart with his gloved hand. He closed one eye and threw. The dart bounced off the rim of the board and landed on the floor. He tried again, with similar results. The third time, the dart stuck in the board, outside of the scoring area. Thomas wondered what he was doing.

He wasn’t the only one taking notice. As Thomas watched, two men, one older and stout, the other young and thin, approached Jimmy. Thomas couldn’t make out their words, but they seemed to be having a friendly conversation. Thomas was glad about that. He would jump into another fight for Jimmy if he had to, he wouldn’t think twice about it, but his life would be perfectly complete without reliving that particular experience.

Jimmy held out his right hand to the men. They all shook. The stout man stood in front of the dartboard but, before he threw, Jimmy turned and waved at Thomas. “Thomas! Come over here!” Thomas obeyed, bringing the drinks with him. “You were right,” Jimmy said, as Thomas drew near. He took off the glove and handed it back, exchanging it for one of the pints. “It’s a lot harder with the glove on.” Jimmy smiled. Thomas rested his glass on the edge of a table and pushed his hand into the glove. The two men looked between them, realization dawning on their faces. Thomas wanted to laugh, but he held himself in check.

“This is Dr. Winston,” Jimmy said, introducing the stouter man. “And Mr. Phipps. Gentlemen, my friend Mr. Barrow.” Even now, it gave Thomas a thrill to hear him say it. “Wish me luck, Mr. Barrow, we’ve got a friendly wager going.”

“Good luck,” Thomas said, but Jimmy didn’t need it.

Thomas could play sport; Jimmy, Thomas noticed as the day wore on, could play people. It was a beautiful thing to watch. Thomas was torn between admiration and jealousy. He’d tried for years, for most of his life, and he’d never been able to do what seemed to come so naturally to Jimmy.

Jimmy took five shillings off the two men at the Crown and Eagle. Then they moved onto the White Cat and Jimmy played the same trick there, taking eight shillings off a group of rough-looking farmhands. That one worried Thomas, a little. When they left, he kept checking over his shoulder, but nobody followed them.

At the Queen’s Head, Thirsk’s third and final pub, Thomas expected the same thing to happen again. He’d even started to take off his glove when Jimmy shook his head. “I’ve had enough of that. Why don’t we just have a nice drink and something to eat?”

That suited Thomas eminently. They sat down and Jimmy caught the eye of a barmaid, a buxom girl about Ivy’s age. She came over, grinning. 

“Hello, beautiful.” Jimmy beamed at her.

“Ooh, cheeky.” The girl beamed back. Thomas shifted in his seat. “What’ll you have, then?”

“Well, you see…” Jimmy leaned forward. He was slightly unsteady, the only clue that they’d been drinking all afternoon. Well, Jimmy had been drinking. Thomas had held off, mostly. Somebody needed to be at least partially sober. “I’m afraid we haven’t much money. My darling brother,” he indicated Thomas, “was injured in the war, and since then, the shoe shop just hasn’t been the same.” He took Thomas’ left hand, resting on the table, and pulled it forward, displaying the glove to the girl. Thomas tried to move his hand away, but Jimmy held him fast.

“Give over,” the girl replied, laughing. “It’s Mr. Peters what runs the shoe shop ‘round here.”

“I know,” Jimmy replied. He let go of Thomas’ hand. Thomas tried not to miss him. “We came here from Middlesborough to beg him to give us a chance, but he cast us aside cruelly. Now we’re forced to make the long journey home, only to tell our blind and crippled mother that we’ve no choice but to sell up and join the travelling circus.”

“The circus!” The girl hooted.

“Yes.” Jimmy nodded, his expression entirely serious. “We’re going to make shoes for the clowns. You’ve seen the type of shoes clowns wear?” He held out his hands, about a foot from each other. Slowly, he moved them wider apart, inch by inch. “They’re so very, very, long, aren’t they, sweetheart?” Jimmy winked. The girl blushed a bright crimson, but the smile never left her face.

“All right, then. Let me see what I can let you have for cheap.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

Thomas stared. He couldn’t help himself. “What?” Jimmy laughed. Beneath the table, his foot nudged Thomas’.

“Your brother?” He said, because that was the only part of Jimmy’s little display he felt qualified to comment upon.

Jimmy laughed. “My darling brother. Darling, older brother.”

“I never had a brother.” Thomas pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket. It seemed like one way of taking his mind off things.

“Nor me,” Jimmy said. “Always wanted one, though. Somebody to drink with, somebody to share secrets with. Somebody to lie with in bed, at night, after dark…” He trailed off, suggestively.

“If that’s your idea of a brother,” Thomas said, his voice calm even as his stomach dropped through the floor, “it’s probably just as well you never had one.”

Jimmy laughed, a genuine laugh as if Thomas had said something truly witty. He moved his foot away. Thomas was at once greatly relieved and incredibly disappointed.

The barmaid came back quite quickly, bringing with her two plates laden with fish and chips. “Don’t tell the boss.” She winked, setting the plates down in front of Jimmy and Thomas.

“Thank you, darling.” Jimmy replied, with a dazzling smile. “We shall remember you when we’re cobbling for Boffo the clown.” She laughed and went off again.

“How do you do it?” Thomas asked, in awe, as Jimmy coated his chips with salt.

“Do what?”

“That.” Thomas gestured with a hand. “You make everybody love you. Nobody loves me.” Thomas had tried to make them, when he was young. It hadn’t worked, so he’d tried to make everybody hate him instead. He’d also failed there. People just felt sorry for him, apparently. Even when Thomas committed one of the most egregious offences possible, when he attacked a defenceless man in his bed, still they hadn’t hated him the way he deserved.

“They acted like I was the villain,” Jimmy had told him afterwards, when they were friends. He’d sounded affronted, and Thomas couldn’t blame him. “Like I should have just shaken your hand and laughed and forgotten about the whole thing. I’d like to see what Mr. bloody Bates would do if he woke up with a man in his bed.”

“That is a question that will forever remain shrouded in mystery,” Thomas had replied, lightly, but there was guilt behind it. He was grateful for how things had turned out, but he hadn’t realized Jimmy had been made to feel badly for having kicked up a perfectly understandable fuss. 

“Unless,” Jimmy had replied, a gleam in his eye, “Alfred gets tired of waiting for Ivy.”

Now, Jimmy looked up from his ill-gotten fish and chips. He waved a hand casually, nearly knocking over the bottle of vinegar in the process. “It’s just a game, Thomas,” he replied. “Nobody loves me, either.” His eyes met Thomas’. “Well, not nobody.”

Thomas dropped his gaze, staring at into his haddock. A prickle ran through his body, and he gripped his fork tightly enough to leave an imprint on the palm of his hand. Perhaps now, he thought, would be a good time to get drunk.

It didn’t take long. Thomas couldn’t hold his liquor as well as Jimmy, a fact which would have galled him if Jimmy hadn’t also been looking distinctly the worse for wear. His hat was pushed back on his head and his hair hung over his forehead, into his eyes. It was an inspiring sight, and an enjoyable one. Thomas was enjoying it very much, until Jimmy leaned over the table and said, “I’ve got to see a man about a dog.”

“All right.” Thomas sat back, wondering whether it would be safe to order another round.

“You should come with me.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Thomas felt a pressure against his foot. It slid upwards, rubbing against the back of his calf.

“You want to come with me, Thomas.” The foot pushed insistently. Thomas got up and followed Jimmy out of the back door, uncertain what to expect.

The toilet was across a little stone courtyard. As soon as they were outside, Jimmy gripped the lapels of Thomas’ jacket and pulled him into a kiss.

It was rough and sloppy. Their teeth collided and Jimmy’s tongue slipped carelessly over Thomas’ lips, wetting his mouth and his cheeks. It was unbelievable, and unbelievably stupid.

Thomas grabbed Jimmy by the wrists and dragged him around the corner, out of sight of anyone who happened to stumble out of the pub in need of a piss. There, in an alleyway filled with rubbish and the rustling of what could only be rats, Jimmy kissed him again, more carefully this time. Jimmy slid a hand into Thomas’ hair, and when they broke for a breath, Jimmy whispered, “I want it. All the way.”

He’d said that the other evening, too, as they sat in the garden. Thomas had never heard the expression before, not in this context. It was dirty and sweet all at once.Just like him, Thomas thought, feeling warm and loving in his inebriation.

Jimmy’s hands slid down to Thomas’ belt, and Thomas came sharply back to reality. “Not here, for God’s sake.” He moved Jimmy’s hands up. Jimmy wound their fingers together, gripping both Thomas’ hands in his.

“I want it,” Jimmy repeated, a touch of petulance creeping into his voice. He squeezed Thomas’ hands. The sensation went directly to Thomas’ groin.

“When we get home,” Thomas heard himself promise. He was rewarded with a beautiful smile and another kiss. Jimmy slipped his tongue against Thomas’ one last time, probing deeply as if he meant to create a map of Thomas’ mouth. Then he pulled back, and pressed another, chaste, kiss to Thomas’ lips.

“Then let’s go home.”

The bus ride back from Thirsk had never taken so long. They were fortunate enough to arrive at the stop just before the second-to-last bus of the night departed; Thomas didn’t think he could have been held accountable for his actions if he’d been forced to wait an hour for the last one in the desolate dark with Jimmy. As it was, Jimmy kept his hand on Thomas’ knee for the entire journey. Sometimes, it would slip higher, but Thomas gritted his teeth and always moved it back.

As soon as they got off the bus, Jimmy was on him, like some peculiarly erotic, drunken octopus. One arm was around Thomas’ waist, beneath his jacket, the other ranged up and down the front of Thomas’ body, fondling his neck and his chest and dipping daringly lower, across the dividing line of his belt. Thomas couldn’t help himself. Behind a tree, where there was no real chance of being seen, he took Jimmy in his arms and kissed him back. Thomas poured everything he had into it, all the feelings he’d repressed for years: the longing and the love, the pain and the frustration and the sheer, unadulterated lust that had coursed through his body, in various ratios and measures, since Jimmy Kent first arrived at the house. When Thomas finally broke away, he could feel Jimmy’s heart hammering against him. “Let’s do it right now,” Jimmy whispered, and he tried to pull Thomas to the ground.

“No,” Thomas said. The ground around them was damp, covered in stones and exposed tree roots, but that wasn’t the reason for refusing. “I’m too old for that,” he added, but that wasn’t the reason, either.

The Duke of Crowborough had always believed he was Thomas’ first lover. He no doubt believed it still, wherever he was, but it wasn’t true. The Duke was one of those men who liked virgins, although Thomas hadn’t mentioned it when Jimmy asked, and Thomas had obliged his fantasies. He’d played a very convincing virgin, if he did say so, but he wasn’t one. There had been three men before the Duke, including the very first, a man Thomas hadn’t known and barely remembered. They’d done it—“all the way,” as Jimmy would say—in a place like this, on the ground in a dirty, dark forest. Thomas had felt awful afterwards, dirty—literally and figuratively—and ill-used. He didn’t want Jimmy to feel that way, ever. “In the house,” he insisted.

Jimmy groaned in frustration. “You’re going to kill me.” He turned, no doubt to stomp off dramatically, and tripped over a root. “Damn!”

“Are you all right?” Thomas put out a hand. Jimmy pulled himself up. His knees were covered in mud. One more reason, Thomas supposed, to wait until they were back at the house. They would fool nobody if they arrived home looking like they’d been rolling about on the ground.

“I’m fine.” Jimmy jerked his arm away. He took an unsteady step forward. “I think I’ve twisted my ankle.”

“Do you need…”

“We’re still doing it.” It was too dark to make out his expression, but Thomas didn’t need to see him to know what he looked like. He’d seen Jimmy’s determined irritation before. “Come on.”

The house was quiet when they arrived, Jimmy limping all the way. Thomas put a finger over his lips as he opened the door. Jimmy rolled his eyes. Thomas noticed for the first time the dark circles beneath them.

“There you are.” A voice came from the servants’ hall. Wordlessly, Thomas pointed upstairs, then went to speak to Mrs. Hughes.

“Good evening,” Thomas said, in his best, most sober voice. There was a bang and a muffled curse, as Jimmy evidently tripped up the stairs.

“We were quite worried about the two of you.” Mrs. Hughes didn’t smile, but there was humour in her eyes. She is the most wonderful woman, Thomas thought. She’d never liked him, he’d always known that, but she had shown him kindness and compassion in his darkest hour. Thomas would never forget it. And he wanted to tell her so.

“I’ll never forget…” He began.

Mrs. Hughes held up a hand. “Don’t take leave of your senses, Thomas.”

“No.” He shook his head adamantly. It made him dizzy.

“And don’t let Mr. Carson hear a word of it. It will kill him. The poor man could barely cope with a toaster.”

Thomas had no idea what that meant. He nodded anyway and said, “Good night.”

Thomas went to the lavatory first. He splashed water on his face, refusing to look at the bleary-eyed old drunk in the mirror. He arrived in his bedroom to find Jimmy already there, naked, his shed clothes forming a path between the door and the bed. Jimmy lay on his back, his eyes closed. Thomas had been lucky, in a sense; he’d never suffered the waking nightmares of war common to so many men who’d fought in the trenches. His waking nightmare was this. Reliving his worst mistake. Destroying everything he and Jimmy had built together. Destroying Jimmy.

Thomas stood there, his heart beating fast and his mouth dry, until Jimmy’s eyes popped open. “Come on, then,” he said, but his voice was quiet, less decisive than before. “Get your clothes off.”

“If you’re too tired…” Thomas began, but he took off his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair.

“I’m not bloody tired,” Jimmy said, yawning. “Come here.” Thomas obeyed. Jimmy reached out, pulling Thomas on top of him. The bed creaked. As they kissed, Jimmy worked Thomas’ shirt free of his trousers. He unbuttoned it slowly, his fingers fumbling inexpertly. When the shirt hung loose, Jimmy pulled away from Thomas and stared at his chest, hard enough that Thomas felt a flash of self-consciousness.

“You’re all…hairy,” Jimmy said, his voice full of wonder.

“Ah, yes.” Thomas cleared his throat. Jimmy ran a hand across his chest, stroking him as if he were a pet. Then he moved down, his hand following the trail of hair to where it disappeared beneath Thomas’ trousers.

“It’s lovely.” Jimmy smiled, his eyes unfocused. “You’re lovely.” He kissed him again, tangling his fingers in Thomas’ chest hair. “Bugger me, Thomas, please, I want you to. Right now,” he murmured. The words sounded more like sleepy endearments than urgent demands. Jimmy’s eyes fell closed again, and Thomas knew he couldn’t.

He wanted to. He’d always wanted to. Thomas liked that, a lot, and it had been an unconscionably long time since he’d done it. He could make it good for Jimmy, too, he had enough confidence in his abilities to know that. But he couldn’t do it now, not when Jimmy was halfway to asleep and they were both drunk out of their minds. “Lie back,” Thomas said.

“Mmm,” Jimmy smiled. Thomas pulled his own shirt the rest of the way off and worked his way down Jimmy’s body, kissing his chest, his ribs, his stomach, his hips. “Oh God, Thomas, yes,” Jimmy said, more loudly than was prudent.

Thomas clamped a hand over his mouth. “Shh,” he said. Jimmy licked his hand. Thomas smiled despite himself. “I mean it,” he warned. He moved his hand away experimentally. Jimmy said nothing, and Thomas continued his exploration.

Jimmy’s cock was beautiful. Thomas had anticipated that, of course, but the reality far surpassed his expectations. It was a good size and gorgeous, hard and straining despite the prodigious amount of alcohol Jimmy had consumed. Thomas’ own cock hardened just looking at it. “Keep quiet,” he warned. He pushed back the foreskin, gently. Jimmy covered his own mouth. He ran his lips experimentally up the length of Jimmy’s cock. Jimmy squirmed. He pressed his tongue against the tip and, just like that, Jimmy came.

“Oh, God.” Jimmy sobbed. Thomas slid back up the bed and Jimmy clung to him, burying his head in Thomas’ neck and resting his hand on Thomas’ chest. Thomas covered the hand with his and turned his face to kiss Jimmy on the forehead. “I’ve never done that before,” Jimmy said, after a long moment of silence. His tone was confidential, as if he was imparting a great secret.

“I know,” Thomas replied.

“It was wonderful.” He raised his head for another kiss. Thomas obliged. His own erection was tenting the front of his trousers, but Jimmy’s head was back on Thomas’ shoulder, his eyes closed and his breathing regular.

It broke Thomas’ heart to say it, but he had to. “You can’t sleep here.”

“Hmm,” was the contented reply.

“No, Jimmy. You can’t.” He forced himself to sit up. “Get up.” He shook Jimmy roughly and stood, collecting his clothes. “You need to go back to your own bed.”

“But I want to do that,” Jimmy said. “All the way, remember?”

“Another time.” When they were both sober. And awake. “I promise.”

Jimmy nodded. He stood up, shakily. Thomas tossed him his drawers. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be caught going back to his room, but if he was, it would be better not to be completely naked. Jimmy held them as if he had no idea what to do with them. “Jimmy!” Thomas prompted, not pausing to examine the irony of forcing Jimmy out of his bedroom. Jimmy sat on the bed, putting him on eye level with Thomas’ groin.

“But you…” He reached out, touching Thomas’ unattended erection. Thomas bit his lip. It was physically painful to say it, but they couldn’t, not if Jimmy had never done it before and was on the brink of passing out. They didn’t have time. Thomas wasn’t going to carry an unconscious Jimmy to bed through the darkened hallways.

“Another time,” Thomas repeated. It was a promise. “Now get to your own room.”

Jimmy pouted. His undershorts were on backwards, but Thomas couldn’t imagine Mr. Carson or Alfred looking closely enough to notice, if they encountered him. Thomas thrust Jimmy’s clothes into his arms and opened the door a crack, just far enough to peer into the hallway. It was empty. He gestured to Jimmy, who came up behind him. Right behind him, putting his arms around Thomas’ middle. “I love you,” Jimmy said, hugging him tightly. Nearly too tightly. Thomas was suddenly acutely aware of how much he had drunk.

“I love you, too.” It was liberating to say it, out loud and without regret. Well, without the same sort of regret he normally felt. “Now go.” Thomas watched Jimmy limp to his room, then he shed his trousers and got into bed. He took his own cock in hand and did what he’d done many, many times before. This time, he was so happy he didn’t even resent it.

And then it had all gone wrong, like everything Thomas touched. He’d done everything he could to keep Jimmy from hating him, and still, Jimmy hated him. It wasn’t fair, but nothing in Thomas’ life was ever fair. After Jimmy’s early morning visit the next day, Thomas scowled his way through his work, snapping at anybody who dared to cross his path. After supper, he went outside to get away from all of them. He was sitting on the bench in the kitchen garden, smoking and hating his life, when Jimmy came to join him.

“Go away,” Thomas said. He’d managed to avoid him all day. It was easy, at first, when Jimmy was sequestered in the wine cellar with Bates, but later, when they’d come upstairs, it had become more of a challenge. Thomas had settled on avoiding Jimmy’s gaze if he couldn’t avoid Jimmy completely. He supposed, at some point, that would become awkward, but they’d survived an entire year of not speaking. They could survive it again.

“Can I sit with you?” Jimmy asked, hesitancy in his voice.

“Go away,” Thomas repeated. Jimmy stepped closer. He had a newspaper under one arm, and something in his left hand. Thomas stood. “All right. I’ll go inside, then.”

“Please, Thomas. I’d like to speak to you.” Thomas made the mistake of looking over. Jimmy looked back, all big eyes and beautiful parted lips. Which was exactly what got you into trouble last time. And the time before that, Thomas reminded himself. And the time before that.

“We have nothing to say to one another.”

“Here.” Jimmy held out a packet of cigarettes, the gold lettering glinting on the white cardboard box. “Take it,” he insisted. “It’s for you.” Thomas took it. He opened the box to see four cigarettes inside.

“What is this?”

Jimmy flushed. “It’s all I’ve got.”

“I don’t need…”

“It’s a gift. Because I’m sorry.” Thomas sat back down. Jimmy joined him on the narrow bench. It was a dangerous situation, but Thomas suddenly didn’t have the strength to prevent it. Jimmy swallowed, audibly, and went on, “I’m sorry I spoke to you…the way I did. This morning, I mean,” he clarified, unnecessarily. “I panicked. I don’t know why.”

Thomas did. Because Jimmy was prone to panic at the best of times, and losing one’s partial virginity to a man, while drunk, was far from the best of times. The situation was difficult, Thomas could understand that, but that didn’t mean he wanted to have any part of it. Jimmy sighed heavily, then turned to look at Thomas. “I know what we did, and what we didn’t do. I remember. And I remember…” Jimmy flushed again, a darker red this time. “How I acted.”

“I didn’t take advantage of you,” Thomas said, just to underline the point.

Jimmy laughed, humourlessly. “You bloody should have done. I was begging for it.”

“I couldn’t. Not with you in that state.”

“I know.” Jimmy shook his head. “You deserve somebody better than me, Thomas.” There was nobody better. Even if there had been, Jimmy had hooked him with one look and spoiled him for every other man in existence. Thomas knew that, as surely as he knew anything, but he couldn’t say it. Instead, he said, “I’m sorry, as well.”

“For what?”

“Saying those hurtful things to you.” For treating Jimmy the way he treated everybody else.

Jimmy shrugged. “No more than I deserved.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You’re bloody good at it, though,” Jimmy went on, smiling a little. “Being nasty.”

“I’m a master bastard.”

“You said it, not me.” Jimmy’s smile grew. Thomas was confused. Were they making up? Because he didn’t want to. He couldn’t, not again.

Jimmy pulled the newspaper out from under his arm. It was the morning paper, the one Thomas had read over breakfast. Jimmy held it up the way Thomas had, blocking out everything in front of them. Using it as the world’s flimsiest shield, he leaned over and kissed Thomas lightly, first on the cheek and then on the corner of his mouth. “Jimmy…”

“I still want to do it all the way,” Jimmy whispered. “I do. But maybe not so quickly.”

“And maybe not so drunkenly?”

Jimmy nodded. He stole a third kiss. When he drew away, he whispered, “I owe you one.” Just like that, Thomas couldn’t remember why he’d ever been upset.

Jimmy lowered the newspaper, which was just as well. It would have looked extraordinarily suspicious if anyone had glanced outside, but still, Thomas missed the modicum of privacy. “You’re wrong, you know,” Jimmy said. His tone had changed. It was lighter, happier, matching the way Thomas was beginning to feel.

“I’m sure.” Thomas was always wrong, it seemed like. Maybe he should just get used to it. “Did you have any particular instance in mind?”

“Everybody loves you. Everybody here, anyway. I had a devil of a time stacking wine with Mr. Bates this morning.”

“What?”

“As soon as we got down there,” Jimmy said, “he had his hand around my throat.” Anger began to rise in Thomas, with a different object this time. “Do you want me to tell you what he said?”

“By all means,” Thomas said, between gritted teeth. If he was going to plot Mr. Bates’ downfall, again, then he ought to know the man’s specific crime.

“I remember exactly. It’s hard to forget when a man’s got you pinned against the wall. He said, ‘go with him or don’t, nobody cares, just make up your bloody mind because we’re not going through all that again.’” Jimmy grinned, but his hand went up to his neck, rubbing it reflexively. “So don’t ever tell me nobody likes you, all right?”

“He didn’t say that because he likes me.” Thomas knew Bates better than that.

“Well, he bloody hates me. And he can’t stack wine worth tuppence, either. I didn’t think I’d see the day when I was pining for Alfred.”

Thomas laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Jimmy’s hand came over, just for a moment, and touched the side of Thomas’ leg. “I’ve got a half day on Wednesday,” Jimmy said. “Want to go for a walk or something?”

“All right,” Thomas agreed. He would have agreed to anything Jimmy suggested at the moment.

“Anything good in the paper?” Jimmy asked. He opened it and lay it across his lap, a much more decorous and less suspicious way of reading. Thomas lit up one of Jimmy’s cigarettes, because it was such a sweet gesture, and put a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, because he wanted to.

“I don’t know,” he said, even though he’d read it end to end that morning. “Let’s have a look together.”


End file.
